First Impressions and Other Minor Catastrophes
by Ready Freddy
Summary: A modern retelling. Margaret Hale leaves her rural hometown to join her parents in the industrial city of Milton, Maine. Amidst her mother's failing health and her father's crisis of faith, she meets John Thornton, the mercurial owner of Malborough Electrics.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Just a modern North and South story, not as easy as I thought it would be, but I'll give it my best shot. It starts near the end, but circles back to explain how we got there. I don't know much about the locations and certain plot details so just roll with it. Also, I'm doing this from memory, I don't have the book to use as a reference and some things had to be adjusted for modern times so, again roll with it. I own nothing.

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_I will never attend another funeral, _Margaret vows. _I don't care who dies next, I just won't go. The next casket I see will be my own. _The way she feels at this moment, she's sure it won't be long.

As a murmured "Amen" passes through the small crowd, Margaret stands and walks away. The rest of the mourners follow suit a moment later, heading toward their cars while she ventures deeper into the cemetery. All others depart, except one. One dark figure remains at the gravesite.

An observer might assume he had a strong attachment to the deceased and was not yet ready to say goodbye, but they would be wrong. He stays for her.

She doesn't see this of course. When you feel so utterly alone, you don't go searching for familiar faces for fear of disappointment. Instead, her eyes are occupied with scanning the headstones as she passes them. At last she stops, finally finding the marker for which she was searching. In a rather unladylike way, she sits cross-legged, gathering the black fabric of her dress in her lap in an attempt to preserve her decorum.

_Bess Higgins, _the cold marble reads. She had wanted it that way. She'd said that she wouldn't feel at home in a grave labeled Elizabeth Anne Higgins. "Unless, of course, my death mask turns out terribly dignified," she laughed. "Otherwise, I'll stick with plain old Bess," she declared. "I'd rather be too grand for my name than my name be too grand for me."

"How can you joke about this stuff?" Margaret asked then. It wasn't a tone of reproach, but of amazement. She was genuinely impressed with Bess's resilience and candor.

"Well," she shrugged, "if I can joke about it, I can talk about it. And, if I can talk about it, then it doesn't scare me anymore."

"Ok, Bess," her friend is saying a year and a half later. "I'm scared as hell and I don't know if I'm ready to joke yet, but if you're listening…I can try to talk." Taking a deep breath, Margaret Hale starts to untangle the mess that her life has become. She must decide, here and now, if this most recent straw will be the one that breaks her back.

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AN: This is the start. I should mention that this version of the story is taking place in America. It was too difficult to update the plot and set it in an unfamiliar country. Hope this was enough to get you curious.


	2. Chapter 2

To say it all started with the move to Milton would be a lie.

To say it started long before Milton would be an understatement.

Truthfully, it started with her parents; her mother, an artist, and her father, a man of faith. He was older than she by almost ten years, but she would always insist that her soul was ancient, (thereby making her a cougar in spirit). No one could contradict that. Maria seemed to see twice as much as the average person, understanding in a glance what some might overlook for a lifetime. Richard was a perpetual student at heart, his thirst for knowledge keeping him forever young.

They seemed an odd couple, but that only bothered her sister, whose opinion was not enough to derail the course of true love. Maria was only twenty-one when they married and they welcomed their first child, Frederick, by the time she was twenty-three. Their little family was completed four years later with the arrival of Margaret.

That year also brought the move to Helstone. It was a small farming community nestled in the Bible belt. Mr. Hale took a position teaching at a private Lutheran school and the family occupied a money pit on the edge of town. Mrs. Hale always had some improvement project underway, Margaret always had her nose in a book and Fred was always trying to stay one step ahead of the nearest authority figure. Those early days had been idyllic.

Mr. Hale threw himself into his job with the same gusto he had previously dedicated to his studies. He lived and died by his students' failure or success. Mrs. Hale didn't care to immerse herself in the community as her husband did. She remained an outsider among the farmer's wives, preferring solitude and her studio.

Despite the four year age difference, Fred and Maggie were inseparable. Between her imagination and his ability to get into trouble, they were never bored.

When Margaret was fourteen, she was sent to live with her Aunt Linda and Cousin Edith. The Shaw's lived in Chicago and seemed to think that the companionship 'Mags' provided 'Eddie' was a fair trade for the expensive tuition to a private school. She didn't want to leave her family or Helstone behind, but her father insisted that it was an opportunity that shouldn't be wasted.

While living in the city, she grew very close to her cousin, discovered a love of photography and graduated a year early with highest honors. At the same time, her mother lost her health, her father lost his faith and Fred nearly lost his life.

Maria had never been described as a hearty woman. She was known to skip meals in favor of her canvas when she was deeply inspired. She was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis at age forty two. The disease took its toll on her thin frame, but she continued most of her usual activities with only slight modifications.

Less than a year after that, while Frederick was away at college, his predisposition for trouble came back to haunt them all. The details were kept maddeningly vague when Margaret was told of the ordeal. All her parents would ever say was that Fred was a poor judge of character and because of that he witnessed a crime.

It must have been a large crime and an even larger criminal because the twenty-year-old was taken into the Witness Protection Program in less than twenty-four hours. He didn't even have the chance to say goodbye to his sister. She received a letter that was disappointingly short, and gave her no further details of the incident.

The changes in his wife and the abrupt (and likely permanent) removal of his son broke Mr. Hale's guileless heart. He might have withstood one or the other, but not both. And, so began his slow turn away from the church.

Thankfully, with the bad came some good. After graduation, Margaret was accepted on partial scholarship to Bryn Mawr College. Eddie, with some last minute extracurriculars and excellent letters of recommendation, got into Haverford, more to be near her cousin than for any educational reason. Aunt Linda even rented a house in Philadelphia to be closer to the girls.

Four years later, Margaret was heading back to Helstone with a Degree in Urban Studies, while Edith returned to Chicago a few credits short. Not that she minded, of course. The engagement ring on her finger and the swell of her midsection was a superb consolation prize.

_Has it really only been two years since Eddie's wedding?_ Margaret wonders in the quiet cemetery. She smiles remembering the grand ceremony, too grand by her standards, but entertaining to be sure. The champagne tower, the chocolate fountain, and they practically had to shut down Michigan Avenue for the horse-drawn carriage. She might have mocked the whole gaudy splendor if Eddie and Max hadn't looked so sublimely happy.

The memory reminds her that there are still one or two people in the world who might worry about her. She takes her phone out of the black clutch that is too small to hold much else. Switching it on, she has two missed calls and five text messages. The calls are from Henry Lennox, Eddie's brother-in-law, and also Margaret's lawyer. He is currently helping her deal with her Father's will. It's tough to split everything with your brother when he technically doesn't exist anymore.

She dismisses the calls and the voicemails, turning to the texts, all from Eddie.

"_Remember to wear waterproof mascara."_

_ "How was the funeral?"_

_ "Do you want me to come to Milton?"_

_ "Crap! I keep forgetting I can't travel." _ How could Eddie forget? She reminds everybody of her fast approaching due date every chance she gets. She is convinced that since her first pregnancy was smooth sailing her second go around will be a disaster. _"When are you coming home?"_

_ "Are you ok?" _The last message reads.

Before Margaret can respond to any of them another pops up. This time Eddie has sent a link to a travel website showing flights for tonight.

_She wants to know when I'm coming home, _Margaret muses bitterly. _Home? If I knew where it was I wouldn't be sitting in a graveyard talking to a hunk of stone. _


	3. Chapter 3

After Edith's wedding, Margaret had only a month to enjoy Helstone before her world shifted on its axis.

"Bad news, Mag," her father announced with a grave face. He was never one to sugarcoat or skirt an issue. She steeled herself accordingly. The last 'Bad News' he delivered was that Fred was gone and not coming back. The time before that it was that her mom had MS. There were no small earthquakes for the Hales. Judging by his appearance, she predicted a 7.2 on her family Richter scale. "The issue I've been having with the headmaster…"

The two had been going back and forth over the science curriculum recently. Mr. Hale argued that more emphasis be placed on certain "theories" that went against the school's religious back ground. Margaret nodded, gently urging him to go on.

"It came to a head today." He held her gaze for a long moment. "So, I had to resign."

"Ok." That wasn't as bad as what she'd expected. "I'm sure you can find another teaching job. Any school would be lucky—"

"It's all right, I've already accepted another position," he said, but for some reason his tone unnerved her. "Do you remember Norris Bell? He was my roommate in college."

"Is he that guy that looks like Burl Ives?" She remembered him more from pictures than anything else.

"Yes, that's him" he replied with a faint smile. "He's a professor at Luther now, but he still has a few connections in his hometown."

_A few connections? _Margaret now laughs inwardly. _He owned two factories, three restaurants, a hotel and half a dozen rental properties. That's what my father considered 'a few connections.' _

"There's a hospital there, one that specializes in cancer treatment for children." _Mr. Bell also donated a wing to the hospital._ "They're looking to establish a tutoring program so that the kids don't fall so far behind when they can't attend school. I'm the first hire."

"Dad, that sounds great," Margaret said in surprise. Why did his face still look so worried?

"So, you'll come with us?" he asked, looking relieved.

"Of course—wait," and then the other shoe dropped. "Where is it?"

"Milton, Maine," Mr. Hale said quietly.

"Milton? Maine?" She wanted to be sure she understood completely, he nodded. "I've never heard of it."

"Not surprising. It's an industrial town, not known for much." He seemed to realize he wasn't selling it very well, and jumped to talk up the hospital and the surrounding landscape. "If we settle things here fast enough, we'll get there in time for some of the fall colors."

They didn't. It was only the second week in October, but thanks to some unusually strong winds the week before, the trees were already skeletal when the Hales arrived.

Mr. and Mrs. Hale reached Milton a few days before Margaret. She had to drive the family car and transport a few items too precious to be trusted to movers. Considering Maria's health, a twenty six hour road trip was out of the question.

Margaret had enjoyed the solitude of her road trip. She drove as long as she felt like then stopped at whatever restaurant seemed interesting, taking frequent breaks to stretch her legs and snap a few photos. She hadn't thought much about her timing so she made it to Milton just after four in the morning. Instead of waking her parents, Margaret found an all-night diner and nearly dozed off waiting for her pancakes.

One short stack later and it's not even six. She parked the car at the hotel, where they'd stay until they found a house, and decided to explore her new home on foot. As was her habit, Margaret did most of her exploring through the lens of her camera. It was in this state that she met John Thornton. She was just as oblivious to him then as she is right now.


	4. Chapter 4

Margaret had been wandering for over an hour when she collided with a stranger. She stepped into his path while trying to find the perfect angle on the sunrise reflecting off some factory windows. She could have caught herself and preserved some of her dignity, but she was more concerned with protecting the eight hundred dollar camera in her hand.

So, down she went, falling onto her side and awkwardly cradling the camera. John Thornton, on the other hand, was almost completely unaltered by the collision. (AN: Go ahead and picture Richard Armitage, I always do.)

"Are you all right?" he asked, helping her to her feet.

"Are _you_ all right?" she asked in place of an answer, then rushed to apologize before he could respond. "That was completely my fault. I'm so sorry! I was taking a picture and completely tunnel-vision-ing."

"_Are _you ok?" he asked again, eyeing her carefully. She seemed a bit different. He wanted to know if that was normal for her or if it was a side effect of a head injury he might have caused.

"Oh, yeah," she assured while examining her camera for scratches. "More importantly, did I get the shot? Yes!" she hissed with a grin after looking at the digital display.

Yep, she was definitely different. John didn't know how sleep deprived she was, so he just assumed she was crazy. Not unattractive, but crazy.

"Well?" he prompted, nodding at the camera. She moved to his side and held it between them, not realizing how close she was standing until the shoulder of his coat brushed her cheek. "Not bad," he admitted. With the sun reflecting like that the windows looked like they were on fire. He decided she might not be crazy after all.

In that moment of proximity, Margaret remembered that she'd spent the last two days in a car… eating beef jerky. Adding the three cups of coffee she downed with her pancakes, she was certain that nothing about her smelled good. She maneuvered away from him as casually as possible but he'd seen the expression on her face. He supposed it meant that she had no desire to share any personal space with him, which was true but not for the reason he suspected.

However mistaken his conclusion was he didn't resent her for it. What young woman would want to cozy up to the brute that knocked her down in the street? He had always felt a bit inelegant especially next to petite attractive women.

"Oh, my god! What time is it?" She had been fascinated by his darkening brow but snapped back to reality when he caught her staring.

"Almost seven-thirty."

"I have to go, but it was nice to meet you…" She trailed off after realizing that she didn't know his name.

"John," he supplied, shaking her outstretched hand.

"John," she repeated. "I'm Margaret, and I promise I'll start watching where I'm going." He nodded and turned to go, but she stayed rooted. "Wait!"

"Now what?" He was starting to get annoyed. Since he presumed she found him below her standards, he didn't want to spend any more time with her if he could help it.

"I don't know where I am." John reaffirmed his previous assumption: she's crazy. Margaret quickly explained that she'd been driving all night and then rambled aimlessly up until now. "Can you point me in the direction of the Hotel Sonnette?"

"Do you want a ride?" he asked grudgingly. She started to politely decline but he cut her off. "I'm on my way there. I'm about to be late for a breakfast meeting. Do you want a ride?"

She sensed the shift in his mood, but didn't understand what had changed in such a short time span. She was perceptive, not a mind reader. She agreed to the ride, not because she wanted to, but because he seemed so irked when she tried to refuse it.

"Nice ride," Margaret said as he climbed onto his motorcycle. Again he misunderstood her and started to get defensive.

"It may not look like much—"

"It's a rat bike," she interjected, catching on to this mood swing immediately. "It's not supposed to look like much." She wasn't wrong. It had belonged to Grandpa Thornton in 1947 and John had revived it when he was seventeen. With a complete disregard for appearance, he got it running so he could deliver Chinese food to help his mother make ends meet. Now long past its prime, it's still his main form of transportation in the warmer months. That day ended up being his last ride for the year.

She circled around the front to get a better look, turning on her camera in the process. "You look like you could jump fences with Steve McQueen on that thing."

He smiled at that, a genuine smile that revealed a line of perfectly straight teeth. Margaret snapped a picture before he had the chance to glare at her. In response to his scowl, she returned the camera to its case and shoved the whole thing into her messenger bag.

John tried to insist that she wear his helmet, but upon learning that it was his only one, she adamantly refused.

"If something happens to you because I was wearing your helmet, the guilt will kill me," she said, pushing it back toward him.

"So, I seem cold and unfeeling to you?"

"Just put in on. You're going to be late." He sighed, clenching his jaw. "It's not far and you don't look like the crash and burn type." She sidestepped the offered helmet and settled onto the seat behind him. Judging by the way John jammed it on his head Margaret suspected that he wasn't pleased with the helmet arrangement.

The ride went by quickly and without incidence. Margaret spent the time trying to read the various street signs and John focused on not crashing and burning, as she had so eloquently put it. The focusing aspect was made slightly more difficult by her arms around his waist, but he would never admit that.

She thanked him again when they arrived at the hotel, still not understanding why he seemed mad at her. John went for the front door while Margaret went to the car for her things. She thought that would be the end of it. She thought she'd never see that tall drink of moody water ever again.

_I've been wrong before, _Margaret says to Bess's marker, _but never so many times about the same person._

After inquiring at the front desk, she was relieved of her bags by a prompt bellhop and directed toward the hotel dining room. Her parents had come down for breakfast a few minutes before she came in. Looking back now, she wonders how she didn't put the pieces together sooner. The writing wasn't exactly on the wall, but she should have thought that it might be a possibility that—

He was there. She had the advantage, in that his back was to her, but when her father jumped to introduce her, John didn't seem the least bit surprised. And for some reason, that annoyed her. Had he known who she was the whole time?

"Maggie," her dad exclaimed, seeing her cross the room. "Speak of the devil, here she is. John, this is my daughter, Maggie."

"We've met actually," he said with a smirk. "We bumped into each other on the street and I gave her a ride here."

"Bumped?" Margaret scoffed under her breath.

"I didn't put it together until you mentioned her name just now."

Mr. Hale seemed satisfied with the explanation and pulled his daughter into a tight hug. "I'm so glad you're here. I was starting to get worried." He'd been doing more of that since Fred left: hugging and worrying.

"I'm fine, dad," she tried to soothe him. "You might want to hold off on the hugs until I take a shower. I smell pretty bad."

"Nonsense," he clucked, releasing her.

"Ick," she said, smelling the collar of her cardigan. "Why do you think I didn't want to stand so close to you?" she asked John. That, to Margaret's pleasure, caught him off guard. He glanced guiltily at Mr. Hale, but the older man was looking at the menu and had heard none of it. Mrs. Hale, on the other hand, watched the peculiar chemistry of their whole exchange with a raised eyebrow.

"Really, Maggie," Maria said as her daughter bent to hug her, "I'm sure you don't smell th—oh…" She wrinkled her nose, while Margaret sat in the empty seat next to her. "Have you been eating beef jerky?"

"You can't go on a road trip and not eat beef jerky," she stated as fact.

From behind his menu, John wondered if his sister, Frances, had ever eaten beef jerky in her entire life.


	5. Chapter 5

Even though Margaret had already eaten and was exhausted, her mother convinced her to stay for a cup of tea ("As if my breath isn't bad enough," she'd quipped). The Hales would be viewing a few more houses after breakfast and wanted to know her opinion of the ones they'd seen the day before.

"Any of these seem fine to me," she said noncommittally. "I don't really care as long and you're comfortable there," she nodded toward her mom, likely indicating her wheelchair.

Up until this point, nobody had mentioned it and however curious John was, he restrained himself from asking.

"These are all three bedrooms," Margaret commented, paging back through the print outs. "We'd really only need two…since it's just us," she added cautiously.

It seemed odd to John that she was reminding her father of how many people were in their family. Maria said nothing, but placed a small hand on her daughter's forearm. Margaret turned to her, and without any words exchanged, appeared to understand what the slight shake of her mother's head meant. It mystified their guest.

"I'm too tired to think about this," she said, shaking off the awkwardness of the silence. "What are the neighborhoods like?" she asked John.

He gave them the rundown, but didn't look too impressed with any of the modest homes. Just as their food arrived, he folded the printouts in half and wrote an address on the back.

"There's a place on Fifth Street that I think you might like," He said, handing the papers to Mr. Hale. Richard thanked the younger man then dug into his breakfast.

"I'll have to tell Norrie how helpful you've been. He's found the right man to oversee his properties," he affirmed around a mouthful of omelet.

"I just keep an eye on things, it's no trouble."

"Of course, I understand. Your factory is the real work."

"Factory?" Margaret asked, starting to get drowsy. Based on his presence and the conversation so far, she'd assumed that he was their realtor.

John started to explain that he owns Malborough Electrics which mostly makes the electrical components for lights. He knew that to an outsider the inner workings of his business must be terribly dull but usually people at least pretended to be interested. On any other day Margaret would have too.

Not that day. On that day, she yawned.

"It seems that I'm boring your daughter," John said tightly. Margaret had turned away, hoping he wouldn't notice. She rushed to apologize; she seemed to be doing that a lot around him. "Maybe we should let her get some rest?" he suggested over her explanations.

"I think that is a very good idea. I'll take you up to the room, Maggie," her mother said pushing back from the table. "I just have to grab my camera, and then we can get going," she added to Richard. "Nice to see you, John. Thanks again."

"It's nothing, really," he replied warmly. "See you around, Margaret," he said a little colder.

She fell in behind her mom and started pushing her toward the elevator. Maria left it to her, resting her hands in her lap.

"You didn't forget your camera," Margaret said as they entered the elevator. She leaned forward to see her mom's face.

"You didn't _just_ bump into John Thornton," Maria said in a matching tone. "How did you really meet him?"

She knew better than to lie to her mother. She told her of the collision and the subsequent conversation.

"So…What do you think of him?"

She shrugged adding a mumbled "I don't know" and meant to end the discussion there. Knowing her daughter well, the older woman waited patiently. "What do _you_ think of him?" Margaret asked upon entering the hotel suite.

"I like him," Maria said with a grin. "He's very serious, but I think he has a lot of potential."

"Serious? He's surly and temperamental," she retorted.

"He's a challenge," Maria reasoned, "just what you need."

"What?" Margaret huffed, rummaging in her bag for toiletries and fresh clothes. "All I need is a shower and for my mother not to meddle in my love life."

"How can I meddle in your love life when you don't have a love life?"

"Mom!"

"Okay, I'll drop it for now, but I'm right. You'll see." Maria wheels herself to the door and Margaret holds it open for her. She starts to leave but rolls back to eye her daughter. "I'm only using the chair until I get familiar with the area," she stated out of nowhere. Margaret hadn't voiced it but it had been worrying her since she walked in.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," she replied, leaning down to hug her mom. "Use it when you need to, nobody's judging."

"Take your shower. You smell like a dumpster," Maria observed dryly and patted the arm around her. She shook off the embrace and wheeled out of the room without another word. However close this mother and daughter were, the former's illness was not something that they discussed. Not ever.


	6. Chapter 6

Even though John had misunderstood Margaret at every turn, he had a much easier time with her parents. The house he recommended they look at was perfect. It was not new but recently updated. The bulk of its space was on the first level, making the kitchen, dining and living rooms easily accessible for Maria. The master bedroom was also on the first floor, with two more bedrooms and an office on the second.

The price was right and the owner was eager to be rid of the place. It had been the amateur's first and last experiment in 'flipping' a house, although it was more of a death roll at this point. He was happy to break even, if only just barely. He even agreed to create a makeshift darkroom in the basement for Margaret.

John was their first visitor and would remain their only visitor for some weeks afterward. He came while they were still in the process of settling in. Margaret was surprised by his knock on the door and even more surprised when, without any appeal from her, he fell into step behind her with a box as she climbed the stairs.

"Dad's upstairs in his office," she'd said after welcoming him in. "We're still in the throes of unpacking, but I'm sure he'd love an excuse to take a break." She grabbed a box from the tower and so did John as natural as can be.

He noted that the main level of the house seemed completely put together and assumed correctly that Margaret had first focused on the spaces her mother inhabited. Entering her room, he was met with boxes and bare walls. She was still living out of a suitcase.

Again he thought of his sister. Had she ever seen her put someone else's comfort before her own, he wondered. And, why did he keep comparing these two women?

"Haven't had the chance to do much up here yet," Margaret said unnerved by his appraisal of her room.

"I was just wondering why you didn't take the other bedroom. It's larger, you know."

"I know, but the light in here is so much better," she explained, walking to the window. "Not a bad view too." John moved to her side to follow her gaze, and saw the familiar roofline in the distance. "It'd be better without all the smoke from that factory, but I guess it can't be helped."

"Yes," he said stiffly. "I suppose ugliness must be tolerated as long as it serves a purpose."

"And, beauty can be appreciated even if it doesn't serve a purpose," she replied, confused by his sudden bitterness.

"However unattractive it is, that exhaust feeds a third of this town." He turned to walk out, pausing only long enough to ask "Can your pretty pictures put food on their tables or clothes on their back?"

'_Here we go_,' thought Margaret irritably. Talking to him was like navigating a mine field and she'd slipped up again. "Those families aren't any colder or hungrier because of my pictures either," she retorted, tailing him into the hall.

"John!" Her father greeted him cheerfully before the younger man could fire back. The biting reply died on his lips as Richard shook his hand and pulled him into the little study. "It's so good to see you!"

Margaret retreated into her room, not wanting to have to fake a smile for her father. She told herself that his opinion didn't matter. She didn't have to justify her hobbies to that close-minded, short-tempered goon. Of that she was certain, but it didn't stop her from slamming every drawer and cupboard in her room in the course of the next hour. She told herself that the two events were unrelated but of that, she was less certain.

After a very pleasant chat with Richard, John left, careful to keep his eyes forward when passing Margaret's open door. For her part, she pretended to be thoroughly engaged after she heard the two men saying their goodbyes. He passed like a shadowy specter then disappeared down the stairs and out the door.

"That was nice of Mr. Thornton to check in on us," Mr. Hale commented a minute later, leaning against his daughter's door frame.

"He just came to gloat about finding us the _perfect_ house," she mumbled petulantly.

"Why do you seem so determined to dislike him, Maggie?"

"Are you sure it's not the other way around?" she asked curtly. "I made one comment and he jumped down my throat."

"He's a very frank and honest man. I find it refreshing." Gazing out the window again, Margaret saw the man in question, all broad shoulders and long legs, stalking across the road and down the street. "I'm sure you're just not used to his manner of speaking," Richard continued as her eyes followed the solitary figure in the fading light of early evening. "Your darkroom was his idea by the way. You should thank him at some point."

"Dad?" she said, ignoring his suggestion as a thought suddenly occurring to her. "Malborough Electrics, is it a really big building?"

"Huge. Aside from the hospital, it's the biggest enterprise in town." Margaret cringed inwardly. "Actually, I think you can see it from here," he said, joining her at the window. "Yes, there it is." She didn't need to look to know where he was pointing. She didn't reply, just walked away and fell face first onto the bed.

Mr. Hale was not as intuitive as his wife and daughter but even he could see that she wanted to be left alone. He went to check on Maria who had been resting for the last few hours and missed this interesting development. He even had enough sense, to Margaret's great relief, to not mention it at dinner that night.

_At least, _Margaret thinks ruefully, _that time I didn't have to wonder. I still say he overreacted, but for once I knew why. Progress, right?_


	7. Chapter 7

Margaret wasn't aware of it but, less than an hour after she tried to convince her father that John Thornton disliked her, their new friend was doing the very same thing with his mother. Even though he'd told her that he was going to visit Mr. Hale, she only asked about the young Miss Hale. Now, he dreads the interrogation sure to be waiting for him.

_Mom will be expecting me back at the factory soon, _John realizes with a glance at his watch. _I should get going. _He doesn't move. He knows that he should leave before she sees him, but his legs don't comply.

Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. _This might be the last time I ever see Margaret Hale. What else could bring her to Milton after this? And, even if she does return, she won't come looking for me. _

A moment ago, he was hoping to save himself some embarrassment by slipping away unnoticed. Now, he wants nothing more than for her to look in his direction. The civil war that Margaret always unknowingly sparks within him rages back to life after months of dormancy. He welcomes the sensation, having missed it and her more than he cares to acknowledge.

John straightens up, ignoring the creeping hands of his watch and setting his shoulders. His mother will ask about Margaret no matter what time he returns. No point in hiding or rushing away. She'd suspected his feelings after their first argument, long before John himself realized what was happening.

_Their first argument…_

So many others had followed. John dropped in on the Hales once or twice a week after his first visit. Richard, who enjoyed a lively debate, became both instigator and mediator. Any time he and John stumbled into a subject about which Margaret had strong opinions, he would call her in to join the conversation.

She never understood why John seemed to take pleasure in fighting with her. And, believing it to be futile, he never tried to analyze his emotions toward her. He just knew that, no matter how agitated he became in the course of the discussion, he always left the Hales feeling lighter than when he'd arrived.

Now, as he stands next to the gravesite of Norris Bell, a man he'd been acquainted with for ten years but had never really known, he feels heavier than ever before. Only sixty feet away, Margaret is numb. She doesn't notice the uncharacteristic July chill or the gathering clouds. She doesn't even feel the eyes that bore into her back, desperately willing her to turn.

_Look back, _the eyes plead. _Look back at me. I know you'll leave and I won't stop you, but I have to see your face one last time. Please._

* * *

So short, but more to come soon. Thank you for reading! Any and all input is welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

December brought change. The naked trees were frosted with heavy snow and the temperature rarely reached double digits. Mr. Hale started his work at the hospital. Between the private lessons for the children and creating the new program from scratch, Richard's schedule was packed. Aside from the odd cigar or late dinner with John, his leisure time was nonexistent.

Margaret stepped in to pick up slack where she could. She met with local teachers to help her father formulate lesson plans, interviewed potential tutors, and got to work on a résumé of her own.

"You should talk to my mom," John said, upon hearing that she was looking for a job. "She knows everyone and everything in Milton. I'm sure she would give you a good recommendation."

He'd said it kindly and meant it but Margaret was still seething after their latest bout. Halfway through a heated debate on same-sex marriage, John started to laugh.

"What is so funny?" she stopped midsentence to ask him.

"I'm sorry," he replied with a smirk. "Before you go any further, I should tell you that I don't oppose gay marriage. Actually, I'm all for it."

"But, then why did—"

"I just wanted to hear your argument. You get so….intense when you're trying to prove a point," he explained in admiration.

"Are you making fun of me?" she wondered in disbelief. Her father stepped in before John could reply, applauding both for their skill in debate. He went on to hope that she might find a job in Milton that could thoroughly engage her sharp mind, which prompted John's suggestion to consult his mother.

Margaret thanked him out of obligation, still angry that she'd been manipulated for his entertainment. She never intended take him up on the offer, but a week of her father's badgering and unsuccessful job hunting was enough to break down her resolve. She went to visit Mrs. Thornton on the following Tuesday, silently speculating on how much of John's combative personality came from his mother.

Finding the house was easy. Not only was the old brownstone enormous, but it was right across the street from Malborough Electrics. Margaret rang the bell at exactly two o'clock, the time John told her to stop by. The door opened a moment later and she, to her great surprise, was ushered in by a butler.

_I didn't know people still had butlers. Are they still called that? Or, is it one of those titles, like stewardess and secretary, which has been deemed distasteful and replaced with a more respectful term? _

The butler, or whatever he preferred to be called, led her through the house and into a formal sitting room. It was like walking into a different time; even the air felt old. With everything in its place and polished to a high shine, it looked like a museum exhibit. Margaret couldn't decide which piece of the antique furniture looked the least expensive and decided to stand, just to be on the safe side.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Hale," Mrs. Thornton said from the doorway. She didn't rush in immediately, but watched Margaret from across the room. The girl recovered from the start, after almost knocking over a Tiffany lamp, and straightened her shoulders.

Mrs. Thornton was inclined to dislike this young woman, already seeing the pull Margaret had on John, but she appreciated good posture. She respected the firm handshake and the frank way the girl met her gaze. Strength was a commodity to her and she begrudgingly recognized it in Margaret.

Dressed in her usual attire, charcoal trousers and a white oxford shirt, Hannah Thornton looked out of place in the ornate room. In skinny jeans and an oversized cardigan, so did Margaret. Despite the incongruity, the older woman seemed proud of the décor. She had tediously gathered every trinket and personally restored every piece of furniture.

"John tells me you're looking for work," Mrs. Thornton said after they'd moved past introductions and sat down with tea. The whole thing seemed almost ceremonial. Margaret nodded over the rim of her cup. The couch she sat on was as uncomfortable as it was beautiful; she hoped it didn't show on her face. "Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why do you want to work?" Mrs. Thornton clarified. "I see it in some circles, women get jobs out of boredom, but they're only willing to do a certain kind of work."

"I assure you, that is not the case with me," she replied with a laugh. "It's not too complex. I just need money." She'd meant for her remark to ease the tension, but when Mrs. Thornton's eyes continued to bore into her, she cleared her throat and went on in a more serious tone. "My mom has had a tough time since we moved here. We want to hire someone to help her around the house."

"Why not save the money and help her yourself," the older woman scoffed.

"I don't mean cooking and cleaning," Margaret replied quickly. "I thought John might have told you…My mom has secondary progressive multiple sclerosis."

"I'm sorry, he didn't mention that," she said a little tersely.

"She needs someone with a medical background." She'd hoped not to bring it up. Seeing her mother's most recent attack and the torturously slow recovery was difficult enough. She didn't want to have to relay it to a near stranger.

Mrs. Thornton fixed her eyes on Margaret. _They're the same blue as John's, _the young woman noticed. Aside from that, there was little family resemblance. Where John was lean and long-limbed, his mother was stocky and robust. While his features were strong and distinct, hers were nondescript. His hair was nearly black and, though hers was once a deep auburn, it was now heavily tempered with silver.

They were, however, both taller than average for their genders, and they moved in a similar way. There were no wasted actions, everything was deliberate.

"The Milton Tribune," Mrs. Thornton said after some internal deliberation. "Dave Henderson runs the weekly newspaper and he's an old friend. I could give him a call."

"I don't want to inconvenience you," Margaret replied, a bit embarrassed.

"Then I wonder why you came at all," she quipped, sounding much like her son. "I've come this far, one phone call isn't much more." Mrs. Thornton stood to indicate the appointment was over. "I'll call Dave today and you can drop off your résumé tomorrow."

"I can't thank you enough," said Margaret, standing and grasping the woman's hand.

"Bring a sample of your photography with you," she added, easing out of the girl's grip. The Thornton's were not a touchy-feely bunch.

"I will." Margaret thought it odd that he had failed to mention her mother's MS, but the topic of her hobbies had come up in conversation. The idea that mother and son sat around talking about her made the girl a bit uneasy.

Just as the women were about to say their goodbyes they heard the front door open and slam shut. A female voice echoed through the hall and grew with her approaching footsteps. "…I wouldn't be so curious if you weren't so secretive," she was saying to her cellphone. "I'm not going to embarrass y- oh, they're in the mausoleum," she said drably, catching sight of them from the hallway. "Gotta go!" she squeaked and hung up.

"This is my daughter, Frances," Mrs. Thornton said almost apologetically. "Frances, this is Margaret Hale." Their guest would have shaken the new-comer's hand but her phone seemed to need her attention more, buzzing and flashing incessantly.

"Call me Frannie," she said, eyes still glued to the screen. "_Frances_ makes me sound like a dried up old school marm," she explained with no regard for the woman who gave her the name.

"It's nice meet you."

"Frances, put your phone away," her mother scolded softly. She said it more gently than Margaret expected, but Mrs. Thornton always treated Frannie with tenderness. Most thought it was a display of favoritism; in actuality, it was because she knew her daughter was too sensitive to handle anything but tenderness.

"It's John. He doesn't want me to harass his new girlfriend," she giggled, holding the phone out to show the caller ID.

No one could tell which of the ladies jumped in faster to correct her. It was of photo finish. Frannie appraised them both with a smirk, their reactions confirming her suspicions.

"Trust me, that'll never happen," Margaret laughed incredulously. "It's more likely that hell might freeze over."

"Yes, I think we understand," Mrs. Thornton said tightly. She was pleased that the girl had no designs on her only son, but as a mother she didn't care for the way Margaret scoffed about it. Just like that, any esteem that was earned over the last hour vanished.

"I don't mean any disrespect!" She quickly realized her error and mentally added 'easily offended' to the list of Thornton family traits. "John's great, just…you know, not my type. And, I'm totally wrong for him too. Ask him yourself," Margaret rambled. "We never agree on anything. Even if we start to agree, he'll switch sides just to fight with me."

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Mrs. Thornton asked Frances to end the tangent.

"I dropped that class. The professor had a speech impediment." Young Miss Thornton was in her fifth year at the local college and having switched majors six times, there was no end in sight.

"We'll talk about that later." Then Mrs. Thornton turned back to Margaret to say goodbye, seeming much stonier than the first time around.

_Excellent, _Margaret thought then, _Should I try for the hat trick? It shouldn't be too difficult to get Frannie to hate me too._

They were not the lingering farewells of old friends or close family. They were over quickly, much to the pleasure of all parties involved.

_Not the best first impression I've ever made, right? _The headstone doesn't reply. _Even though it started terribly, that day turned around after that. It was on my way home that I met you, Bess._


	9. Chapter 9

The snow started falling just after two o'clock and by three-fifteen an inch of icy crust covered every surface. Margaret pulled her scarf up over her nose while she scraped off her windshield. The ballet flats she wore were perfectly suited for her understated look, but completely inappropriate for the current weather conditions.

Just as she was rounding the back bumper to clear off the passenger side windows she caught a patch of ice that had been obscured by the fresh snow. She tried to regain her balance but to no avail and went flailing to the sidewalk.

_Please, oh please, tell me that none of the Thornton's saw that!_

"Are you okay?" a female voice asked from halfway down the block. Margaret turned toward the rapid footsteps in time to see the woman slip on the very same patch of ice that she had. She landed a foot or two from Margaret and immediately burst out laughing. It was infectious and for a moment they forgot their embarrassment, giggling to the point of breathlessness.

"I'm Bess," the girl said after finally regaining her composure.

"I'm Maggie." They shook hands while still sprawled on the pavement.

"I really hope you're okay, otherwise I'm going to feel terrible for laughing."

"I'm fine." Margaret pulled herself upright, wiping a few tears from her eyes. It was the lightest she'd felt in months. "Are you- Oh my god! Your ankle!" She was horrified to see Bess's foot bent at an extremely awkward angle. She was even more frightened when the girl lapsed back into hysterical laughter. "Uh…Don't move! I'm going to call—,"

"No! It's okay," she sputtered gleefully. "It's just, well…" Bess dissolved into giggles again. Then she rapped her knuckles against her lower leg, just above the twisted foot. Margaret was confused by the hollow 'thunk' sound it produced, which made Bess laugh even harder. "You should have seen your face!" Finally starting to understand, Margaret now joined in the outburst.

"I had it amputated when I was three. I don't even remember, actually," Bess explained once they were in the car. If it hadn't been for the snow they might have stayed on the sidewalk for hours. The cold brought them back to their senses and Margaret insisted on giving her a ride home. "I've had old Smitty ever since," she said, tapping her right knee. "Well, not this exact one," she clarified. "This is version twenty-two or twenty-three."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?" Margaret said tentatively. "Or is that incredibly rude?"

"No, I don't mind. It wasn't some terrible accident," she rationalized. "I have a rare form of bone cancer. They took the leg to save my life."

"Oh."

"No need to look so solemn," Bess said flippantly. "It's the hand I've been dealt, could be worse."

The Higgins family home was a cheaply built townhouse on the east side of Milton, directly abutting the warehouse district. The rumbling of trucks could be heard at nearly all hours of the day, but most of the tenants in this neighborhood didn't even notice the sound anymore.

"Would you like to come in?" Margaret agreed quickly, eager to solidify the new friendship. "Nobody's home," Bess said, shrugging off her jacket on the landing. She moved up the half flight of stairs swiftly, albeit awkwardly and motioned to a small kitchen table by the front window. "I'll make some hot chocolate."

"Have you lived here long?" Margaret asked, noting how comfortable Bess seemed in the space. It was how she used to be in their home in Helstone. Not like how she felt here. The night before, she'd almost fallen down the stairs on a bleary trip to the bathroom.

"Most of my life," Bess replied, putting a kettle on the stove. "We moved here when I was diagnosed to be closer to the hospital." She leaned against the counter while the water warmed up. "Where are you from? I can tell you're not from here. Your accent is a dead giveaway."

"I am from the Midwest," Margaret said in mock offense. "_We_ don't have accents. It's everybody else that talks funny." Bess laughed and her guest was relieved to have finally found someone in Milton not surround by eggshells for her to stumble over. "You've never heard of it, but I was born in Helstone, Iowa. It's barely a speck on the map, but it was a great place to grow up.

"You have to let me pay to repair your…uh…leg," Margaret asserted after they'd exhausted the topic of Helstone and the supply of cocoa.

"Don't worry about it," she replied. "My dad can fix it." Bess looked down at her prosthesis, which still functioned even if it was a bit unsteady. "I might keep it like this. I'd never have to stand on the bus again," she added and her infectious laugh took over both of them.

* * *

By the time Margaret got home her parents had already eaten supper. She filled her mom in on the day's events while she munched on a sandwich in the kitchen. "So, I'll bring my résumé over tomorrow and we'll see."

"This seems perfect," Maria said, giving her daughter a sidelong glance. "Why aren't you happy about it?"

"Just once, can't you ignore that feeling in your gut?" she sighed.

"'fraid not, kiddo."

"It's so catty and stupid, I don't even want to say it out loud," Margaret said irritably.

"If you get the job, you'll be indebted to John and his mother," Maria said with a smug smile, as if she'd known from the start and only asked out of politeness. "Why do you dislike him so much?"

"You don't even want to know, do you? This is one of those questions that you ask just so I'll _look within myself_." Maria nodded. "I hate it when you do that." Margaret put her dishes in the sink and started to make a hasty getaway. "You're aware that I'm almost twenty-two, right?"

"So, you don't need your parents anymore? Are we at the 'friend' stage in our relationship already?" she asked with good natured sarcasm, leaning heavily on her cane as she followed her daughter into the hall.

"Not even close!" Margaret laughed. "I'm just saying: The damage is done. If you haven't turned me into a functioning member of society yet, it's probably never going to happen." She began to climb the stairs but looked back over her shoulder, "So you can stop reading parenting books now."

"Tomorrow," Maria shouted up the stairwell, "Could you please wear something that is neither black nor gray?"

"You want me to go naked!?"

"Ooh, funny girl," Maria muttered and hobbled away, allowing herself more of a limp now that no one was watching. Margaret chuckled at the long standing joke with her mother and went into her bedroom.

"Maggie?" Richard called from his study.

"Yeah?" she yelled back, rummaging in her desk.

"How did it go today?"

"Uh… good, I think," she said, scanning two résumés to figure out which was the most recent.

"And, what did you think of Mrs. Thornton?"

She could tell he hadn't moved and guessed that he was smoking. Cigars were his only vice and anytime he enjoyed one in the house he was anchored to an open window.

"She doesn't blink, dad," Margaret shouted. "I'm serious. It was creepier than Phil Mickelson in that Enbrel commercial." She gave up, deciding that the two pages she held were identical aside from font, and started toward the study.

"The house was pretty spooky too. I'm lucky I got out before Colonel Mustard tried to kill me with a lead pipe." Still looking down at the paper in front of her, she didn't notice the other person in the room. "Which font do you th- John!" Margaret gasped after almost sitting on him. "I didn't mean…I just…" She looked to her father for assistance, but he was far too amused with the situation to be of any help. He leaned against the sill of the open window next to his desk suppressing a grin.

Margaret dropped her arms to her sides with a long sigh. She sat in the unoccupied chair opposite their guest and met John's eyes unflinchingly. "Your mother is terrifying," she said honestly.

"I know it," he chuckled, expelling a great puff of smoke.

"And, your house is like a museum." She was relieved and emboldened by his buoyant response.

"Also, true."

"And, your sister thinks we're dating."

"Yeah… sorry about that." He traded his smile for a grimace.

"Your mom was very pleased to hear that we aren't dating—"

"I'll bet."

"—however, she didn't care for how adamant I was about it." Margaret pulled a blanket off the back of her chair and across her lap. With two windows open, the room was developing quite a draft. She slumped into the cushions and tucked her feet underneath her.

Without a word, John ground out his cigar, left it in the ashtray and closed the window between them. _Hmm, _though Margaret, _maybe there was hope for John Thornton yet._

"She was very impressed with your posture," he said as a consolation. "My mom can't stand a slouch-er."

"We talked for an hour," she stated flatly. "We talked specifically about my strengths and marketable skills and the only nice thing she could say about me was that I had good posture."

"And a firm handshake."

Richard was the first to crack up, then Margaret and eventually John. Remembering it now, the girl smiles in spite of everything else. It was the most relaxed she could ever recall John being and it marked the first time she didn't want to throw something at him during the course of a conversation.

Although it was a mundane evening, it is a pivotal moment in John's memory.

"Thanks. I can't tell you how confident I feel about my job interview tomorrow," she said looking down at her résumés again. "I better get to work." She started to leave but went back to kiss her father's cheek.

John watched the exchange curiously. It wasn't something she normally did so he couldn't help but wonder why. Then she said something he couldn't make out and Richard smiled. In an instant, the older man's face changed. The lines on his forehead disappeared and his eyes lit up. He seemed immediately freed from a cloud of anxiety that John hadn't noticed before.

Margaret must have seen it. Why else would she have changed course so suddenly?

Before meeting the Hale's, John didn't realize how much he overlooked in everyday interactions. It fascinated him how Maria would read his disposition in the set of his shoulders, or when mother and daughter seemed to have full conversations without a word between them. When Hannah Thornton had something to say, she said it and she raised John in that same attitude. These other, more subtle, forms of communication were unfamiliar to him, and therefore, tremendously interesting. He was beginning to understand the Hale's, Margaret in particular.

Richard and John resumed their previous conversation in her absence, although both men now seemed slightly distracted. Both were thinking of Margaret. Shortly after that the younger man said goodbye, leaving Richard engrossed in his work for the tutoring program.

"How's it coming?" John asked from Margaret's doorway. She was on her bed putting together a portfolio, pictures scattered across the duvet. She shrugged in response, and then held up a shot of an attractive couple in black and white.

"What do you think of this?" she asked. He entered the room and took it from her to get a closer look.

"It's good," he said, wishing he could think of a better way of putting it. "But, I'm not really the right person to ask."  
"Yes, I forgot. You hate photographs," she quipped, "because they don't fight crime or heal the sick." He handed it back to her and pushed a few others out of the way to sit on the foot of her bed.

"I'm sorry about that day." He looked down to avoid her gaze, unsure of what his eyes might give away. "I'd just come from a very tense meeting with the union leaders. I would have snapped at anyone."

"Based on your mood tonight, I'm guessing it's all been worked out now," Margaret noted brightly, adding the picture she'd taken to mark Eddie and Max's engagement to the binder in her lap.

"For the moment," he replied. "Most of my workers have kids so nobody wants to strike at Christmastime."

"That makes sense. Do you really think it'll come to a strike?"

"We'll find out after the first of the year, I'm guessing."

"Let me know if you need the media spun in your favor," she said with a wink. "Provided that tomorrow goes well..."

"You'd really do that for me?" He put a hand to his chest, pretending to be touched.

"With the proper motivation," she stipulated and rubbed her fingers together to hint at a bribe.

"I like this one," John said, handing her the picture she'd taken the morning they met. "Can I ask you something?" he inquired as she placed it into the portfolio.

"Careful," she warned. "We've gone a whole evening without fighting."

"Yes, it_ has_ been a little boring, hasn't it?"

"All right, ask away."

"What did you say to him?" he asked cautiously. "Your dad, at the end," he clarified, "He was like a different person after that." Margaret smiled to herself and closed the binder.

"He worries about me too much," she explained. "I told him that I made a friend. My first friend since coming here," she replied proudly.

"You don't consider me a friend?" he blurted out incredulously. Her moment of hesitation was answer enough for him.

"John, I didn—"

"Right," he cut her off pointedly. "We should have quit while we were ahead." The familiar edge had returned to his voice as he stood. "Better luck next time," he said bitterly and stalked out.

"John."

"Goodnight, Maggie," he spat from the top of the stairs.

"So close," she mumbled in the heavy silence following his departure.

Out on the street, John took one last look at the light in her window, before striding away. It was the first time he'd ever called her 'Maggie,' and to this day he regrets the bitterness that soaked his voice. He looked like a steam engine rolling down the sidewalk with the puffs of his warm breath dissipating in his wake.

_Why? _he kept asking himself. Why was he so upset by what she'd said? She was right, he admitted. They weren't really friends. All of their interactions were incidental, a byproduct of his friendship with her father. They were acquaintances and new ones at that. So, why had he lost his temper?

_I was jealous, _John is certain of it now. He was jealous of her father, whom she treated with such tenderness, and her mother, with whom she had that secret short-hand. He was jealous of her new friend just as he would be of Nick, Dixon, Henry, even her cousin Edith. He envied all the people she let in while pushing him away.

In the cemetery, he almost laughs at his childishness. The way he picked fights with her every chance he got was no better than a five year old pulling the hair of the girl he liked. Even after the cold walk home when he'd decoded his jumbled emotions, he didn't fare much better with her.

John wonders if he had handled things differently, would he still be watching her from a distance right now. He'd have given anything to wipe away the tears he saw her cry today.


	10. Chapter 10

The Milton Tribune was a modest operation. Only about ten people touched it before it hit doorsteps in the morning, and that included the paperboy. The job interview that Margaret had been concerned about wasn't an interview at all. It was instead a guided tour by the owner's youngest son ending at her new desk. It seemed that Dave Henderson owed Mrs. Thornton a favor and was keen to repay it.

For the first day, Margaret did nothing but proofreading and picking up lunch for the office. After that, she shadowed Matt Henderson, the oldest of Dave's three sons. The patriarch was all but retired and his boys were poised to take over whenever he decided to clean out his office. In less than a week, they decided that Margaret's greatest asset was her sight, and made her their lead photographer.

It was a weekly publication that focused mainly on the local news. The work was easy enough, but time consuming. Margaret went to high school basketball games and community plays. She sat in the kitchen of Milton's oldest resident and captured her look of pride when talking about her great-grandchildren. A week before Christmas, She went to the official lighting ceremony in the town square and snapped pictures of families adding ornaments to the thirty foot tree.

That was the next time Margaret saw John and the chill between them had nothing to do with the temperature. Both thought the other was still mad about their last conversation; although, only one of them was wrong. They exchanged a few forced pleasantries before she spotted Bess in the crowd. After a relieved goodbye, she made a beeline for her friend without a backward glance.

"Bess!" she yelled, as happy to see her as she was to have an escape from John and his furrowed brows.

"Maggie!" she replied, releasing the arm of the older man she was with to pull Margaret into a warm hug. "I thought you forgot about me," she added.

"I know. I'm so sorry!" Margaret exclaimed. "I started work last week and I've been completely swamped."

"You got the job? That's great!" At that point the man next to her coughed uncomfortably. "Oh, this is my dad, Nick. Dad, this is Maggie, the girl who—"

"The girl who smashed up your leg," he finished gruffly.

"I fell, Dad. It was nobody's fault," Bess soothed.

"And, what if you'd broken your real leg? You need to be more careful."

"You worry too much," she countered, hooking his arm again. "Don't mind him, Maggie." She must have noticed her friend's discomfort. "Can you come and have some hot cider with us or are you on the clock?"

"It's still a half an hour before the big moment. I think I can take a break." The three started to make their way toward a little stand where a local church was selling hot drinks to raise money for a youth ski trip. "My treat," Margaret insisted.

"We can afford our own cider," Nick said proudly.

"I never said you couldn't," Margaret replied calmly. She paid for all three and left a dollar in the donation jar.

"Fine." He took a sip of the steaming liquid then pulled a flask from his jacket and poured a healthy shot into his cup. "I don't want you to think we're some charity case. My girls might not have anything fancy, but we'll get by."

"Dad, drop it. Can't you see you're making her feel awkward?" Bess interjected. "Mary's probably waiting for us. Why don't you go on ahead? I'll stay here with Maggie."

Although Margaret had never met Mary, she had heard quite a lot about her. She was Bess's younger sister and she worked as an orderly at the hospital. This was a constant source of guilt for Bess. She was concerned that her sister was forced to grow up too fast on account of her illness. The girl had forgone college in favor of the job at the hospital to help pay for Bess's medical expenses.

"I get the feeling that your dad doesn't like me," Margaret said once they were alone.

"No, he just gets grumpy around Christmastime," Bess explained. "Come January, it'll be ten years since my mom left us. The anniversary always puts him on edge." She seemed so matter-of-fact about such a personal tragedy that her companion was speechless. "And, I suppose it didn't help that we saw you with John Thornton…"

"Do you know him?"

"Only by reputation. Dad calls him the Bulldog."

"Yes, the resemblance in uncanny," Margaret joked. "Does your dad work for him or something?"

"No, he drives truck for Slickson Shipping, but their main client is Malborough Electrics." The two found an empty bench at the far end of the square and sat down. "Blue collar, white collar… everybody's taking sides lately."

Margaret wanted to ask more about it, but she could tell by Bess's tone that she was already tired of the subject. They chatted on about lighter subjects until they finished their cider.

"Who's that?" Bess asked when Margaret waved to a woman on the opposite side of the gaudily decorated pavilion.

"That's my mom."

"Is that your brother with her?"

"No!" Margaret answered a little too eagerly. "I'm an only child," she added clumsily. The family had decided that since nobody here knew about Fred it would be easier and safer if they pretended he didn't exist. "That's Dixon, my mom's aide."

Theo Dixon had the kind of silhouette that you didn't want to meet in a dark alley. He was tall enough that he needed to dip his head slightly under most doorways with massive rounded shoulders and hands the size of snow shovels. Not the sort of man you would expect to find in the field of personal care.

However, in the light of day, he was a massive teddy bear. He had a dazzling smile that transformed his face and his eyes shrank to crescent slits every time he laughed. He was the first and last person they interviewed for the job; Maria hired him on the spot. The two were as thick as thieves from then on and with his encouragement she was doing much better.

Her meals and medication were now taken on a schedule more precise than the departures at JFK. Neither was put off for a minute, no matter how Maria protested. Dixon, as he insisted they call him, was resolute in these matters, as well as her physical therapy. In that he took on the attitude of a Marine Corps drill sergeant.

Despite complaints about the potential masterpieces he interfered with, Maria loved him. She was free to grumble and gripe about anything she liked without eliciting the pained expressions from her daughter and husband that always silenced her. He alternated between sympathy to soothe her and indifference to motivate her. In addition, Dixon was fiercely loyal. It didn't matter to him who was signing his paychecks. He would rather be fired than betray Maria's confidence.

While this irritated both Margaret and Richard, they couldn't argue with his results. She had not recovered the full mobility she'd had in Helstone, but she was walking more than she had since they arrived in Milton. Even though she was using her wheelchair tonight, the fact that she had ventured out at all was quite a victory for Dixon.

"Is it weird having some strange guy living with you?" Bess asked. The real reason for Richard's insistence on a spare bedroom was for a live-in aide. He had never intended for a hulking stranger to move in across the hall from his young daughter.

"Not really." After years of living with Fred, Margaret was already used to locking doors and putting the toilet seat down. "He has more skincare products than I do," she added with a laugh. "It is strange though, having someone else look after my mom. I feel like a bad daughter."

"Don't," Bess replied simply. "I know from experience, there are some burdens you don't want to put on family. Trust me on this."

"If it were just the physical stuff, I don't think it would bother me so much."

"What do you mean?"

"They talk. They have secrets and inside jokes," Margaret explained sadly. "All these years, I thought she didn't like to talk about her MS, but it turns out that she just doesn't like to talk about it _with me_."

"Of course she doesn't," Bess said kindly. "You're her daughter. She still wants you to think she's invincible and that the world is fair and just," she continued, reaching out to clasp her friend's hand. "She wants you to be young and enjoy life, not be a nursemaid to your ailing mother."

Turning away from Margaret, she spotted her dad entering the square with Mary in tow. "Take a look at my sister," she pointed her out. "She's nineteen years old and she works like a dog." Bess looked back at Margaret with immense sadness. "She should be in college, making friends and meeting boys, only worried about midterms and finding someone to buy her beer. I'd give anything for that."

"Bess…"

"She never complains, you know?" As Nick and Mary neared, her face brightened into a smile. She introduced her sister to Margaret and no one could have guessed that her mood was anything other than festive.

After taking a few shots of her new friends, Margaret got back to work. She captured the moment when the Mayor's granddaughter threw the switch and got the tree, in all its splendor, from a few different angles. She decided to call it a night when the crowd started to thin.

Back at home, the kitchen light was the only one still on. Margaret found Dixon chopping vegetables at the counter with Bing Crosby playing softly on the radio. Considering her conversation with Bess, she couldn't help but look at the situation from a new perspective. She took a deep breath and let go of any jealousy she might still hold against Dixon.

"John left that for you," he nodded toward an envelope on the table without slowing his progress.

"Can I help you with anything?" she asked as she tore into the sturdy paper.

"No, I'm almost done," he replied normally but the change in her attitude was noted. "What is it? Love letter?"

"Shut up," she said dryly. "It's an invitation to some charity thing," she answered, still scanning the card.

"I know. Your parents got one too," Dixon grinned. "Plus, the Thornton's Charity Ball is the best New Year's Eve party in town." He finished chopping and started transferring carrots to the crockpot by the handful. He then added a cup of white wine before replacing the lid and adjusting the dial. "What's the theme this year?" He poured the rest of the bottle into his measuring cup and sipped it serenely.

"Murder mystery," Margaret said in disbelief. "1950's cocktail attire, silent auction, dancing…" she skimmed, "and a prize for solving the crime."

"That's cool. Usually it's just a raffle for the grand prize," he commented and started washing up.

"It's Clue." It might have been a coincidence, but Margaret was sure that this had something to do with the 'Colonel Mustard' comment John had overheard last week. Turning the invitation over confirmed it.

_Thanks for the idea. –John, _was scrawled on a yellow post-it stuck to the back of the card.

"I thought you said it wasn't a love letter," Dixon said, noticing her smirk. He turned back to the sink and missed the scathing look she sent him. Margaret was used to the constant insinuations about her and John by then. She'd figured out early on that protesting did very little to mitigate the rumors, but her patience was wearing thin.

"Goodnight, Dixon," she managed despite a clenched jaw.


	11. Chapter 11

Christmas came and went without much grandeur. The holiday didn't feel the same without Fred. Small gifts were exchanged and a turkey carved, but it would never again be the uproarious event that Margaret remembered from her childhood. They didn't even bother to put up a tree that year.

"What do you think of this one?" Bess asked. She and Margaret were perusing the overstuffed racks of 'Wardrobe,' a costume shop/thrift store, looking for a dress for the Charity Ball. Margaret had been putting it off in the hopes that she would come up with a viable excuse not to attend.

With three days left before the party, she finally acknowledged that there was no getting out of it and went shopping.

"It would be gorgeous _on you,_" Margaret replied. She decided that if she must go, bringing Bess along would make the evening bearable.

"I know," she agreed sardonically. "What a pity that_ I_ wasn't invited."

"If you wear this, you won't need an invitation," Margaret said with a wink. "Come on! It'll be fun."

"You have been telling me how much you're dreading this thing all week," Bess pointed out.

"And, you've been disagreeing with me all week." Margaret held the dress up to her and pushed her toward a mirror. "This will be your chance to prove me wrong."

It really was a beautiful dress; a sleeveless sheath of rich satin in midnight blue reaching to the floor. The neckline was straight across in front with a deep V in the back and a fabric embellishment that hung from the left hip. Bess looked at her reflection wistfully. Because of her health struggles she had not attended a single high school dance. No Homecoming, no Prom, no Spring Fling.

"I don't think you realize how big of a deal this party is," she said without taking her eyes off the mirror. "They take the guest list seriously and this bum leg of mine isn't the best for running from security."

"Rent-a-Cops," Margaret scoffed. "I'm not scared of them."

"I am!" Bess exclaimed. "They have Tasers!"

"Just try it on," Margaret appealed. She saw the smile twitching at the corners of her friend's mouth and guided her toward the fitting room.

Just as she pulled the curtain closed, her phone rang. Margaret didn't recognize the number and for a moment hoped that it might be Fred. Even though the Marshal Service delivered letters to and from the Hale's, she longed to hear her brother's voice.

Her heart sank in the next second, realizing that the area code was Milton.

"Hello?"

"Margaret? It's John."

"Oh, uh…Hi." She wanted to ask how he got her number, but stopped herself in consideration of their previous altercations. "What do you need?" Margaret asked, hoping to sound light and casual. She'd decided in the spirit of Christmas to forgive his most recent tantrum.

"A favor," he replied simply. "One of the volunteers for the party just cancelled. Do you think you could help us out?"

"Maybe. What would I have to—hold on," she paused as a thought occurred. "My dad already said I would, didn't he?"

"No," he said cautiously. "Your mom did."

"Of course," she sighed. "What do have to do?"

"Not much. Just, you know…die."

"What?"

"Can't have a murder mystery without a victim," he explained. "It was supposed to be my sister until she discovered that she'd have to sit out some of the party." Since she was planning on finding a quiet corner in which to hide anyway, the thought appealed to Margaret immediately. "So, what do you say?"

"Hmmm…" She stalled to build some leverage. "Can I decide who kills me?"

"No."

"Can I pick the murder weapon?"

"No."

"Can I choose my own alias?"

"No!"

"Can I be in charge of Red Herrings?" She knew the answer to that question too, but she was working up to something.

"No!"

"You're really not making this worth my while."

"It's a charity event. Isn't that incentive enough?" he asked incredulously.

"Fine, I'll do it," she relented. "But, can I at least bring a date?" That was her angle all along. Bess came out of the dressing room while Margaret waited for his response and her jaw dropped at the sight of her friend. The dress was a perfect fit, for the girl and the occasion.

"N—Um…" John stammered, cutting off his instinctive answer. He wasn't pleased with the notion, not since his long walk home, but he was worried what a denial might imply. "My mom won't be happy about it, but I suppose that can be arranged." Hannah Thornton hated last minute changes. "Your date doesn't get a gift bag," he stipulated scornfully.

"Well then, why bother?" she quipped sarcastically. "I'm kidding!" she said before he had the chance to take her seriously. "So, how do I die?" Margaret gave Bess, who was very confused about what she'd overheard, a 'thumbs up'.

"Poison," he explained. "You'll collapse after dinner, so make sure your dress is…well…"

"Practical enough that I can fall down without flashing people?"

"Yes, exactly," John replied, relieved that he didn't have to spell it out.

"I make no promises," Margaret joked. She said goodbye to John after learning a few more details and turned back to her friend with a mischievous grin. "You have to get that dress, know why?"

"Why?" Bess humored her, but not without an eye roll.

"So that I can have the hottest 'Plus One' at the Thornton's Charity Ball," she exclaimed.

"Then you have to get this one," Bess insisted, "and we'll call it a tie." She held up the emerald green dress she'd found while Margaret was on the phone.

"I was really looking forward to putting one over on Mrs. Thornton," Margaret said on the way to the car. They threw their bags into the backseat and climbed in. "Wouldn't it have been fun to sneak in with the caterers and do a 'Superman' change in the bathroom?" Bess laughed at the mental image.

"And, then we could have a 'Breakfast Club' style montage of us avoiding her all night."

"Trust me," Margaret implored cynically, "that's still going to happen."

"What did he say when you asked to bring a date?" Bess asked as they drove away.

"He said you don't get a gift bag," she answered without much thought.

"That's all?" Bess eyed her suspiciously from the passenger seat.

"Not you too!" Margaret said miserably. "How many times do I have to say it? There's nothing going on between me and John." She'd heard it from his mother, her mother, his sister and her father. Even Dixon was teasing her about it. "I'm not even going to deny the rumor anymore. I'm just going to start a _new_ rumor that we broke up."

"Well, if nothing is going on," Bess ventured, "maybe it should be. He seems delightful."

"You've never met him!"

"I've seen him from a short distance," she claimed in mock indignation. "And, as you know, I'm terribly superficial so that's enough for me."

Margaret couldn't help but laugh being that it was so far from the truth.

"Are you telling me you're not the least bit interested in seeing John Thornton in tuxedo on Friday?" Bess challenged.

"Uhhhh..."

"I knew it!" she giggled triumphantly. "This party is going to be fantastic!"


End file.
